


Dream Sometimes

by callunavulgari



Series: TW Bingo [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always Female Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1620998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m pregnant,” she blurts, and promptly claps her hand over her mouth, like she can take it back. Derek’s face does something twisty and complicated, something that she’d probably find hilarious if this wasn’t so serious. “And I don’t know what to do.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> For my Teen Wolf Bingo Square: Cis-Swap. While I could have done something other than pregnancy fic, I'd been reading a lot of fic with Derek and Stiles plus babies, and I REALLY wanted to write it. So I did. And it was fun. And awesome.

When Stiles was little, one of the very first lessons that her mom ever taught her was this: _a watched pot never boils_.   
  
At three, Stiles hadn’t quite understood. She just wanted to know why the spaghetti wasn’t ready yet, hiked up on the kitchen counter and watching the little bubbles form at the bottom in fascination. So the lesson hadn’t really stuck that time or even the time after, but eventually, she’d understood.  
  
Time was a curious thing. Some days passed in a blink, others dragging for what seemed like weeks. And every grade schooler worth their dime eventually learned that you should never, ever watch the clock.  
  
At nineteen, Stiles _knows_ these rules. She knows to go do something else when she’s making pasta for her dad, knows not to watch the seconds pass by as if that might make them pass faster.   
  
Knowing this, she still watches the tiny, stupidly insignificant device sitting in front of her. She taps her feet and chews her lip nervously, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet. She stares and stares and stares, until what feels like days have gone by, and then she stares some more.  
  
She watches until a stark black yes with a little plus sign slowly comes into being on the tiny screen, and then, very fervently, says, “Fuck.”  
  
She picks up another test and takes it again.  
  
When the result is the same, she growls, very quietly, and resists the urge to give in and hurl the pregnancy test across the room.   
  
“Fuck!”  
  
.  
  
“You’re going to tell him, right?” Kira asks. She’s giving Stiles the same wide-eyed look that’s been there for the last ten minutes, sandwich hanging forgotten in her hands. As Stiles watches, a hunk of tuna thumps dejectedly onto her plate. She’d expected the look that Kira’s sporting right now — the mixture of surprise, shock, and genuine concern — and similarly, she’d totally predicted the one that’s got Scott’s face all twisted up, like she just slapped him with a rotting fish.  
  
Stiles takes another bite of _her_ sandwich — because not everyone can neglect their food like that, it’s just wrong — and gives Kira a flat, pointed look, because _werewolves_.  
  
“Oh,” Kira says, blinking. When Stiles had first met her, she would have blushed. Now she just licks mustard off her upper lip and shrugs. “I guess he would smell it on you eventually, huh?”  
  
Stiles rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m going to tell him. Hopefully before it has to come to that.”  
  
Not for the first time, Stiles wishes that she’d gone to Lydia first. At least with Lydia, she could expect a deluge of facts, pamphlets, and the kind of fierce, terrifying calm that seemed to come naturally to her whenever something huge happened. But in the end, she’d gone for Scott and, by extension, Kira. She’s pretty sure she’d lose all the bro points she’s accumulated since first grade if she told anyone other than Scott first.  
  
“But I thought you said it wasn’t serious!” Scott finally blurts, panic in every line of his face. “You said—”  
  
“I know what I said,” Stiles tells him gently, because she does. In her defense, she hadn’t been lying. It was only one time, but contrary to whatever Scott seemed to think, it wasn’t because Stiles set out to have a one night stand. It just hadn’t had the chance to happen again. Yet.  
  
“But _Derek_?” Scott goes, face pained. “Really?”  
  
Stiles glowers at him and takes a huge, mutinous bite.   
  
“Really.”  
  
.  
  
In all actuality, they’ve come a long way since Scott got bitten. They’ve had to grow up faster in the last three years than most kids do before they hit thirty. And despite what Scott says, he’s actually on pretty good terms with Derek. They’re total bros. Derek’s got the weird zen master thing going on for him and has replaced lurking in awkward places and scowling at everyone to actually being helpful. It’s done wonders for his and Scott’s relationship. Wonders.  
  
And then, as Lydia put it, Stiles fell on Derek’s dick.  
  
World War Three hadn’t actually happened. No, the explosion was small, and contained to the privacy of Scott’s bedroom. She’d been very specific when she’d told Scott that alpha or not, he was not allowed to give Derek shit. She’d been threatening. She’d cracked jokes. And when none of that had worked, she’d stooped to emotional manipulation.  
  
She wasn’t proud of it, but at least the next time they’d had a pack meeting, Scott hadn’t strung Derek up by his toes.  
  
What happened was this:  
  
Stiles hadn’t fallen on Derek’s dick at all.   
  
Instead, they’d had slow, _feeling_ sex in the woods. She’d gotten leaves in her hair and laughed about it as he kissed her gently under the light of the freaking moon. It was sweet and sexy, and nothing like she’d ever imagined sex with Derek to be like. She’d laughed. He’d laughed. In her wildest dreams—and there had been a few—she’d never ever considered that she might have _laughing_ , feeling sex with him. Mostly those dreams had consisted of him slamming her around like he used to, and instead of getting in her face and walking away like he couldn’t smell the want on her, well. The dreams hadn’t been gentle. Fantastic. But not gentle.  
  
She wasn’t drunk. She didn’t pounce on him, fed up after years of sexual tension. They just talked. And then the talking had turned into something more.  
  
Then, he’d driven her back to her house, kissed her gently, and they agreed that they’d give it a more in depth discussion—eyebrow wiggle included—later.  
  
Only, their lives sucked, so they’d gotten distracted. Vampires, ghouls, wendigos, and goblins. College. Fast forward a month and half, one missed period, and two positive pregnancy tests and here she was, fidgeting on his doorstep and pretending that he couldn’t hear her hesitating.  
  
Stiles does the only thing she can. She tells herself to grow a pair, and she knocks.  
  
“Stiles,” he says warmly when he sees her, and it’s worse than she thought it would be, because his face goes all soft. It’s beautiful, sure, but it’s also upsetting because she’s pretty sure he’s going to go back to threatening to rip out her throat in the next ten minutes.  
  
“I’m pregnant,” she blurts, and promptly claps her hand over her mouth, like she can take it back. Derek’s face does something twisty and complicated, something that she’d probably find hilarious if this wasn’t so serious. “And I don’t know what to do.”  
  
He ushers her inside with a palm splayed low across her spine and she gives him props for not looking around for any eavesdroppers, even though he clearly wants to.  
  
They talk about it. She sits on his couch and he _makes her tea_ , the herbal kind that Lydia foisted on all of them last August. It’s sweet and milky, and she’d find it cute, that he remembered how she liked it, if she wasn’t so busy panicking.   
  
“What do you want to do about it?” he asks her carefully, when she’s done explaining the missed period, the pregnancy tests, and the morning sickness that she’s pretty sure wasn’t supposed to happen this early. He’s got his poker face on, that perfect blank mask that she hasn’t seen since they got him away from Kate, and she _hates_ it. So much.  
  
“What part of ‘I don’t know what to do’ did you not get?” she cries, throwing her hands up, which jostles the mug she’s got tucked between her knees. It doesn’t spill, because he’s quick to reach out and steady it, his thumb brushing against her bare kneecap. There’s an unshaven patch of hair there, fine and blonde, and it isn’t an accident that he strokes that part of her. Weirdo. He’s pretty sure he _likes_ her hairy.  
  
“There are options,” he tells her, mask fracturing the smallest bit.   
  
“I…” she starts, voice choking up in her throat. She thinks about what she’s going to say — really thinks about it — because her words have the ability to hurt here, and this isn’t something that she wants to use to hurt Derek. Snapping, biting comments in the heat of the moment is one thing, but things like this? Serious, important things? She never wants to hurt him like this.  
  
She licks her chapped lips, one hand drifting down to press against her stomach, which probably won’t start swelling for at least another month, and lets out a little whimper. “I think,” she says slowly. “I want to keep it.”  
  
His mask shatters, shoulders drooping with relief as he leans in, dropping his head onto her shoulder. She shivers when his breath ghosts over her collarbone and remembers how it felt to touch him, to be allowed to touch him, wherever she wanted. “I mean,” she goes on. “I kind of wanted us to be serious, even before all this. I know we never got around to talking about it, but I wanted us to be a thing. And, I don’t know if that’s what you wanted, but if you don’t, we could make it work and—”  
  
Derek shushes her easily, pressing the pads of his fingers to her lips. She nips at them, just to be contrary, but goes quiet anyway.  
  
“I do want that,” he tells her. “I did want that, before, and I wanted to tell you but—”  
  
“Our lives are stupid, I know.”  
  
Oh god, does she know. How does she even expect to raise a _baby_ in the mess that is Beacon Hills? They go quiet again, and she just listens to the sound of him breathing — of the traffic moving further down the road, the wind chimes that Kira hung on his porch jingling. Stiles misses Erica. She would have been all over this in the best possible way.   
  
“What if the baby’s a werewolf?” she asks, because it’s a thing that she’d wondered. She knows a lot about werewolves, but genetics wise, not so much. “Because I am not a fan of the Twilight method of baby extraction, okay—”  
  
“I am not ripping our child out of you with my teeth,” he mumbles into her shoulder, and he’s rumbling a bit, so that means he’s either growling or trying not to laugh. She hopes it’s laughter. “And if it’s a wolf, it’s a wolf. I’ll have to track down some of the books that used to be in our library, but I don’t think carrying a werewolf is much different than carrying a human.”  
  
She grins through a film of tears. “So I shouldn’t be expecting litters?”  
  
She can practically feel him roll his eyes. “No, Stiles. No litters for you.”  
  
Finally, he pulls away, and she feels less stupid about the tears because his eyes are damp too, red around the edges, moisture gathered in his lashes. “Have you been to the doctor yet?” he asks, and she winces, because no, she hasn’t. She’d waited to tell him, because if she went to the doctor, her dad would find out immediately and—  
  
“Oh god,” he says. “You haven’t told your dad yet.”  
  
She laughs, because it’s either that or cry.  
  
.  
  
He holds her hand when she tells her dad. It’s not easy, because the look her dad gives him is one that almost certainly promises that he’ll be shitting wolfsbane bullets before the end of the week, but he holds his ground and speaks when necessary.  
  
She’s proud of him, because when her dad implies some very sexist things about Stiles staying home with the kids and Derek getting out there to be the breadwinner, he turns to her instead of replying to them, raising a brow like he knows exactly what she’s thinking.   
  
Once she’s done tearing her dad a new one, Derek perks up again, clears his throat, and says, “I have savings.” He has a lot of savings. Enough to live on comfortably until the end of time. Not that they would. Stiles has plans, and they don’t include mooching off of Derek for the rest of her life. “I’ve got no problem staying home with the baby if Stiles wants to finish out her degree.”  
  
.  
  
Derek watches cheesy movies with her. One day, he lets her sit him down, and they do a marathon run of the original Star Wars movies, and because why not, the next day they actually sit down to watch the shitty sequels. They watch The Breakfast Club and the old Wonder Woman that his mom watched when she was a girl.   
  
He rubs her feet and paints her toenails.  
  
He goes to the doctor with her. He goes to fucking _yoga_ with her, and no, she doesn’t preen much at the looks the other mothers throw her. Much. When they find out they’re having twins, he lets her tease him about litters and how they owe it to the world to name the babies Romulus and Remus if they’re boys.  
  
The second time that they have sex, she is four months pregnant and she’s already huge, so huge, and she’s read about how fathers are usually reluctant because they’re afraid to hurt the baby, but she’s the one who freaks out about it and he calms her down, rubs soothing circles into her belly and eats her out until she’s crying.  
  
He lets Lydia take them to Babies R’ Us and Baby Gap and a dozen other maternity stores, and puts up with everything better than Stiles does.  
  
They talk about her moving in with him, and she’s reluctant, she is, but she all but lives at his loft anyway, so she might as well, even if it feels like they’re skipping some rather crucial steps.  
  
“I think we’ve done this a little bit backwards,” she tells him later, snuggled into his side with her huge belly between them. There’s the beginnings of a nursery down the hallway, and she’d had about as many misgivings about the loft as her dad and Scott had, but so far, Derek’s done a fantastic job of making the place baby friendly.   
  
“Probably,” he admits, nuzzling into her neck.   
  
“But it’ll be okay, right?” she asks, because she is worried and panicky, and sometimes yells at him and everyone else for no reason then cries about it five minutes later.   
  
He pulls away from her far enough to peer down at her face, and whatever’s on it makes him croon, makes him dot kisses all over her face until she laughs and pushes him away. “Of course it will be, Stiles,” he tells her. “I want this. You and the babies. It’s like—”  
  
He cuts himself off, looking frustrated, so she shushes him, because she knows. He’s getting a family again — Derek Hale’s truest wish. Two summers ago, a djinn had locked everyone except Kira and Lydia in their own perfect reality. Thus far, she’s the only one to know what was in Derek’s, though she’s pretty sure everyone else has guessed. A family. Alive and whole. And this may not be the exact same thing as getting his family back, but it’s making a new one. Mate and cubs and everything that he’d admitted quietly that he’d yearned for.  
  
“We’ll make it work,” she says, because it’s true.   
  
Her and Derek have been a long time coming, and even if this isn’t exactly how she’d pictured their epic romance, it’s theirs.   
  
.  
  
They have summer babies; a boy and a girl who come squalling out of her after a grueling twenty hours of labor that she probably wouldn’t have survived if the pack hadn’t taken turns leaching her pain away, red-faced and wrinkly. They’re beautiful and according to Derek, they smell like wolves, so that’s… definitely a thing that they’ll deal with.  
  
“We aren’t naming them Romulus and Remus,” is the first thing Derek says to her when he hands one of the twins to her.   
  
She laughs, even though the attendant is giving them both a weird look, and says, “Well, of course not. Wouldn’t want to give our baby girl a complex. How ‘bout Selene? Or Diana? Or—”  
  
He glares at her, but the effect is somewhat dampened by the fact that he’s wearing a cap over his hair and scrubs covered in blood and is also _holding one of their babies_.  
  
“No wolf jokes,” he tells her quietly, then chews on his lip, face creased with thought until she hits him.   
  
“What about Laura?” he asks finally. “For the girl?”  
  
She softens immediately, looking down at the little girl in her arms. “Laura,” she whispers quietly, smoothing out her kid’s wrinkly brow. “Yeah, she looks like a Laura. What about our boy?”  
  
Derek frowns, then offers, “We could name him Artemis, if you’re really set on the moon thing.”  
  
Stiles laughs so hard that Laura wakes back up. It takes another five minutes to get her soothed again. “Naw, it’s cool, bro. Wasn’t really set on the moon thing anyway.”  
  
She mulls it over for a minute, thinking about the list they’ve got back home. Most of the names they’d come up with had been for girls, so she’s kind of unprepared. She’d go for one of her family members, but most of them have weird, European names and well, his dad’s name is John. He’s not naming his kid John, or tormenting him with a name like the one Stiles had ended up with.  
  
Jonathan, though. That could work. God, she’s going to have to swear not to make any Jon Snow jokes as he’s growing up. That wouldn’t be cool at all. Maybe he’ll take to Jona as a nickname. She’s pretty sure her dad’s sister used to call him that when they were little.  
  
“Jonathan,” she finally says, peering into Derek’s arms. Obligingly, he perches on the side of the bed so she can see him better.  
  
Derek offers her a smile and a nod, so she guesses that she’s got his approval on that one. “They’re going on paper as Laura and Jonathan Stilinski-Hale, hope you know that,” she croons up at him. He knows. She’s told him a couple times now, so all he does is roll his eyes and drop a kiss onto her nose.   
  
“Now gimme,” she says, making grabby motions with her free hand. “And go let my dad and Scott in before they knock out all the nurses between here and the waiting room.”  
  
Derek sighs once, but easily places Jonathan into her arms, and pads out the door.  
  
“He’ll be back,” Stiles croons at Laura when she makes little fussy noises. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. You’re about to meet your Grandpa.”  
  
She hums a lullaby while they’re waiting, one that her mom used to sing to her before she went to sleep, and if she sheds a happy tear or two? Well, no one’s there to see it.  
  



End file.
